


Breathe Me In

by vaguelyobscene



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 1x08 Flash vs Arrow, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attraction, Barry is a hugger, Bottom Barry, Denial of Feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oliver/Felicity Friendship, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Scents & Smells, Top Oliver, Way Too Many Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelyobscene/pseuds/vaguelyobscene
Summary: Oliver struggles with his attraction to a certain speedster and the way he smells like tea with honey and lightning storms on a winter’s day. He doesn't believe he deserves someone as good and pure as Barry Allen. Barry does not agree.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after the Flash vs Arrow episode and completely AU from that point on. I planned for some self-indulgent porn but then a little bit of plot took over, feelings spilled out, and I ended up with this. First go at writing in awhile so I'm probably rusty but I couldn't resist the idea. This work is unbetaed and I have no idea what tense I was going for but I won't do it again. xD

He absolutely should not notice the way Barry smells, not when the reason he has him pinned to his chest is because he’s trying to keep the kid from killing him. He cannot acknowledge that Barry is like getting a breath of fresh winter air, crisp and vaguely woody with an underlying sweetness that he can’t quite place but it makes him want to nuzzle into his throat until he figures it out. Oliver quashes those unhelpful thoughts and shifts his grip on the furious metahuman, juiced up on Bivolo-induced rage.

“It’s gonna be alright,” the Arrow promises quietly as he holds on tight while the S.T.A.R. Labs van races down the alley toward them. He doesn't release him until those flashes of color seem to make the deadly tension drain from Allen’s body and then he knows it’s safe, his friend is back to normal.

Days after their street fight when he’s back home in Starling, the clean scent clings to the dark leather of Oliver’s uniform and he catches himself breathing it in too often. He notices when it begins to fade and tries to act like he doesn’t miss it. He can’t afford to dwell on Barry and, frustratingly, the minute he decides that seems to be when it becomes impossible to keep his thoughts from straying towards Allen.

\----

He swears it’s just a desire to maintain the partners deal they struck that has him back in Central City the very first time Barry calls. He couldn’t get ahold of Felicity and needs to borrow some experimental motherboard thing from Palmer Tech. It was a small favor and he wasn’t directly asking for Oliver’s involvement but he quickly offered to bring what they required and lend a hand regardless. He does not mention that he liberates the device without asking or feeling a twinge of remorse. 

They end up facing down a terrifying metahuman who could coalesce dark matter in her palms and use it to manipulate objects. She was causing chaos Scarlet Witch-style (which is how Cisco put it) in an effort to draw out the Flash and he was lucky to escape her last time around; she nearly crushed him. 

Barry finally figured out why she was so upset though — it was about the meta with electrical absorption abilities who the Flash locked up the week before. He’d been using the ability to knock out the power and break into businesses but Barry never realized the guy had a partner when he rounded up the thief. He’d earned a space in the Pipeline for frying a security guard who made the mistake of using a taser on him when he robbed a check cashing place after hours. The Flash flatly refused her demands to release her shock-happy friend and clearly that made the knockoff Scarlet Witch unhappy.

She doesn’t go down easy and Oliver is pretty sure he has a couple cracked ribs from the parking meter she hurled at him but it went a lot smoother once they got both of Cisco’s bracelets on her. He’d modified the Palmer tech, crammed it into some cuffs that disrupted her ability, and they made her a harmless woman that Oliver had no qualms about throwing into the Pipeline with her boyfriend. 

They worked seamlessly together and when it’s all over Barry shoots him one of those sunshine smiles then wraps him up in a celebratory hug which causes Oliver to wince and the speedster to quickly apologize. He adjusts his grip on that wounded left side and asks, “Better?”

God, no. It’s so much worse. 

That heady aroma, which puts him in mind of green tea with honey and lightning storms on a winter’s day, is overwhelming when he’s pressed this close. It makes Oliver want to bury his nose in the curve of his neck, kiss a path across that strong jaw and run fingers through that incredibly soft-looking hair. He wants to wrap Barry in his arms, to cover himself in that scent because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity and he feels stupidly addicted. He wonders idly if Barry’s skin tastes as good as it smells or what noises he might make if Oliver licked along his neck and bit down gently, right where his pulse thrummed near the surface.

He does none of that. Holds on a little too long in that hug maybe but behaves himself very well. Having these aberrant desires is one thing but he likes Barry too much, respects the kid too much, to act on them. He needs someone better than Oliver, deserves someone he can stand in the light with. The Arrow would always need to remain in the shadows and frankly, a deposed billionaire playboy wasn’t a much better prospect. Detective West wouldn’t be pleased to see his surrogate son involved with _any_ part of Oliver Queen.

\----

It probably would’ve been better if he kept his distance (and they sure as hell had enough to keep Team Arrow busy in Starling) but he can’t seem to stay away. If he has the time to be at Barry’s side, he makes the effort to do so. He uses the excuse that superpowers or not, Barry is new to this and has a lot to learn and Oliver keeps up the ruse by offering to train the Flash whenever they meet up. Initially that proposal was met with a low, genuine chuckle that made warmth blossom in Oliver’s chest followed by a quick denial — Barry didn’t feel like getting shot full of arrows again.

Oliver promises to be nice. Barry learned his lesson about rushing in without checking the surroundings so there was no need for any arrows to the back. He swore to only shoot him straight-on now. Barry replied that wasn’t very comforting but he laughed again before eventually relenting on the concept of training if they kept arrows out of it for awhile. Oliver agrees and the crime-fighters begin meeting up about once a month, trading off locations based on whose schedule could better accommodate. 

It feels like he worries a little less about the Flash after every session. Barry excels at whatever he puts that brilliant mind to, which means he learns quickly as Oliver improves his hand-to-hand combat and shows him how to see the way that any object can be used as a weapon. He becomes good enough that Ollie starts to joke the next time Barry gets whammied with rage, he might not be able to hold him off. He wrinkles his nose and fires back with a smart remark and a speedy wrist lock that forces the Arrow to yield, at least until Barry releases him and he uses the bow to sweep his legs. Another lesson the speedster learns with a disgruntled huff but there’s a sparkle of challenge in blue-green eyes. 

He makes Oliver sorry for the dirty trick; his thigh bruises fantastically from where Barry kicked him and he wasn’t entirely playing up the slight limp when they go for food later. That had quickly become an essential part of the routine since the speedster needed to consume an impossible amount of calories and training made Oliver hungry too. Sometimes Barry would hang around for hours afterward in the Arrow Cave, just to chat or maybe consult on some of his cases — aka poke around on Felicity’s console if she wasn’t around. Oliver accuses him of being nosy and the forensic scientist doesn't deny it.

Whenever they’re in the same room Oliver finds that he automatically situates himself beside Barry, stands closer than should be physically acceptable but he never seems to mind. Barry accepts the proximity, starts to lean in so their shoulders touch when he feels Oliver near and gets in the habit of hugging him goodbye before he speeds off home. It kills Ollie to remain tightly in control when they’re that close so he has to time the hugs, needs to hold his breath and think of anything except the alluring way Barry Allen smells. It’s impossible not to notice the hugs seem to get a bit longer every time, unless someone else was around and then it’s just a quick, bearable 3 seconds.

There comes a point where he can’t ignore it. They’re alone in the Arrow Cave (he’s annoyed that moniker has begun to feel natural) when Barry says he’s heading off and throws his arms around Ollie’s neck for an excruciating 18 seconds. He pulls back but lingers with gaze downcast in a way that’s hard to misinterpret. It’s nothing short of an invitation to kiss him and the vigilante takes a decisive step back, refusing to fold to temptation. 

Keeping himself in check is a task in itself but the thought that Barry might share his desires makes it more difficult to not do something stupid, like shove him against a training mat and kiss him senseless. Oliver doesn’t trust himself anymore so he starts making excuses as to why they can’t meet up. He slowly stops responding to their typical text message banter and manages to dodge the Flash successfully for a few months that felt excruciatingly long. 

He never understood what _he_ had been getting out of training with Barry. Much as it gave him peace of mind to help his friend be a better fighter, he also had this sneaky way of making Oliver open up during their sessions. When the Arrow was busy keeping his actual guard up to avoid fists and feet, it was easier for the kid to slip his emotional guard and get him to talk about the kind of stuff he'd normally keep bottled up. He only did it when they were busy exchanging blows and as soon as the vibe changed during their post-workout time, he switched the flow back to their usual quippy banter. Oliver appreciated it more than he could ever vocalize, didn’t realize how much lighter he felt after spending time with Barry until he went without that calming presence.

\----

Felicity was staring, he could feel the calculating press of bright blue eyes that were laser focused behind those pretty frames. 

“I can feel that, Felicity.” Oliver finally snaps, noticeably shorter in temper these days and further annoyed whenever someone comments on it. His back is to her while he tries to focus on reps with the barbell but she’s impossible to ignore and has the patience to wait him out. _“What?”_

“Nothing,” she replies instantly in a tone that was most definitely not nothing. The blonde waits all of two beats before adding, “I was just trying to figure out when.”

He does not want to ask, knows he’ll regret it, but also knows she’ll keep going whether or not he takes the bait and questions, “When?”

“When Barry Allen started to mean so much to you,” Felicity answers, a bold statement delivered in a fairly neutral tone. Her expression is soft as she puts an elbow on the console and rests her chin in her hand. “I knew you guys were having your super cute vigilante training sessions and he’s been hanging out here, eating my Larabars and touching my computer.” That earns an exasperated eye roll but she’s smiling too, as if she doesn't really mind. “It’s clear you consider him a friend but I feel like I missed the moment when he became more.” 

She doesn't sound the least bit judgmental or resentful but he never would've expected either of those out of Felicity. Oliver was simply projecting his own fears, he knew that, and he wanted to say something but when he finally opened his mouth, it was to lie. “You’re completely off base. I don't know what you think I feel about Barry but I assure you, it's purely platonic.”

Felicity levels him with an irritated look, as if she doesn't know Ollie better than almost anyone and the denial insults her intelligence. “You have been way more of a jerk than usual and it coincides with when you stopped meeting Barry. And trust me, I noticed because before that you were downright pleasant to be around considering some of your… moods.”

He drops the barbell and turns to glare when she accuses him of being moodier than usual. Probably not helping his case. “That's your evidence? Me being more surly for not having time to see my friend? Ahh yes, _now_ I get why you think I'm in love with him.”

Blonde brows arch towards her hairline and Felicity gets to her feet, circling around the console and crossing her arms over her lavender blouse as she regards him. “Um, I didn't say anything resembling ‘love’ but okay, Oliver.”

More quietly she adds, “You don't breathe when he hugs you.”

Oliver refuses to give away anything, meeting her gaze with rigid impassivity. 

“I noticed it once and thought it was kinda strange so I couldn't help taking note that you do it every time. I know you aren't really a hugger but you don't tense like that with anyone else that you trust. Also, you aren't opposed to touching Barry in other ways so it didn't really make sense…”

“And then I remembered,” she continues, leaning a hip against the railing. “You probably don't know this 'cause you haven't been held by you but those are some damn good arms to have, Oliver. I couldn't breathe for awhile there when you’d put them around me.” She gives a little shrug and her smile is gentle, almost nostalgic. 

“It can be difficult, being close to a friend you have feelings for. So you can deny it if that’s what you need to do. Just know that I know. And I’m here when you’re ready to talk.” Felicity manages to only sound slightly superior as she descends the few steps from the platform down to the concrete floor of the base. Her heels click softly as she approaches and he tenses, already sensing he won't like what she says next. 

“If it’s any consolation, I know that Barry misses you.” Pink lips twitch with amusement as she adds, “He’s nowhere near as subtle as he likes to think when he asks about you and he sounds a little more dejected every time I have to make excuses.”

Oliver rises from the weight bench, ignoring the cement knot in his gut, and moves to replace the free weights on the stand with the others. “I don’t need you to make excuses for me.”

“Then lie better,” she orders him sharply. “He can tell you’re blowing him off, Ollie, but has no clue why.”

“Both of you are overanalyzing this,” he bites out, trying for even and calm but falling short of the mark. Felicity might not be a great shot with a gun or bow but she had deadly accuracy when it came to words. “I’m going for a run.”

Oliver knew it was immature to literally run from his problems but he was absolutely done with this conversation. She was too close, knew him too well, and it was hard to hide anything from that loving scrutiny. It drove him up a goddamn wall but he knew it came from a good place, that his friend only ever wanted the best for him. He loved her for that, in a different way now, but it once wasn’t so dissimilar from what he felt for the speedster. 

It was no surprise that he had grown to love them both since she and Barry were so much alike; optimistic souls with brilliant minds, quiet strength, enthusiasm, and a drive to do good. They had hit it off so well in the beginning that he’d been worried the two would end up together and be the perfect couple. As it turns out they make better friends which was a relief to Oliver — even if he believed what he said to Barry about guys like them not getting the girl, it didn’t mean he wanted to see her with anyone else.

Somewhere along the road his feelings had changed because now she was dating Ray Palmer and while he resented losing his company to the man, he genuinely appreciates how happy he makes Felicity. Seeing them together isn't the hardship he once feared and Ray’s not bad to be around, smart and interesting but maybe a bit too chatty. Somehow that was cute on Barry and less so for the Palmer Tech CEO.

Later that night he’s home alone on the couch, sprawled out in a pool of darkness with only the laptop for illumination. It’s open to a social media page for one Barry Allen and as if he can sense Ollie is thinking about him, his phone buzzes with a text from the speedster.

_‘Gotta drop off a new mod of the Canary Cry that Cisco’s been working on. Training tomorrow? Or we could just grab some pizza.’_

He waits a while before responding, _‘Can’t. Doing a job with Dig.’_

_‘Well, that's ok... Need a hand?’_

_‘Nah, we’re good.’_

Barry texts back about learning how to throw lightning and as cool as that sounds, Oliver purposely puts his phone out of reach so he won’t be tempted to respond immediately. He can’t encourage their friendship any longer, had been wrong to allow himself to get so close. He should have taken a huge step back as soon he realized how much deeper that affection for Barry ran. But he had been weak, greedy, and he wanted to be better than that. He needed to maintain his distance because he had a habit of ruining everyone he touched. He won’t add Barry to that list. 

\----

Instead of being on a non-existent job with Diggle, Ollie spends the evening on the roof of his apartment with his back pressed against cool brick as a soft breeze rolls through in stuttering gusts. He’s holding a tumbler with a few fingers of fine Irish whisky and the bottle sits feet away, mostly untouched. It’s more of a thing to do with his hands, twisting the glass between his fingers and watching the amber liquid within slosh and swirl. Every once in awhile he catches a note of rich caramel on the breeze and sips, savoring the sweet burn of the beautifully aged whisky. 

“It’s officially killing me.” That familiar voice to his left isn’t a total shock because it comes seconds after that telltale _whoosh_ of the speedster’s high velocity approach. “I just need to know what I did to make you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests quietly, sounding exhausted before this conversation even starts.

“Right. So you routinely avoid people you like in order to drink alone on a rooftop?” Oliver risks glancing at him and damn it, Barry looks hurt. He’s grinning in an effort to seem lighthearted but the expression is too tight to be natural.

“It’s not like that,” mutters Oliver, glancing away. “I just- After some reflection, I think it would be best if the Arrow and the Flash maintained their autonomy. We have different ways of doing things and I believe that’s what makes us so effective in our respective cities.”

Barry is quiet, studying him for a moment before he moves to sit next to his mentor. “That’s decent logic, Ollie. I can almost see where you’re coming from.” He folds up those long limbs and his hands tangle in his lap, thumb moving restlessly over his knuckles. “But I kinda thought we were friends outside of the whole saving people business. Even if you didn’t wanna train together, that doesn’t explain why you won’t see me at all. So what did I do wrong?”

Oliver remains silent, keeping his gaze on the neutral point of the glass in his hand which is being gripped much more tensely than it had before.

He sounds petulant and determined when he states, “I am not going to let you shut me out, Oliver.”

The Arrow turns his head to regard the young hero, eyes bright and face flushed as he glares back with all the adorably righteous conviction he can manage. Oliver barely suppresses the urge to smile because he can’t trust the expression, isn’t sure whether he’ll look more charmed or sad and either emotion is too telling. 

“It’s for the best,” he replies as neutrally as possible. “There’s no place in your life for someone like me. Nor should there be.”

Barry goes from incredulous to indignant in a matter of seconds, his face an open book. “Oh so you just get to decide that for me?” 

Ever reasonable, he takes a breath and gathers his thoughts before continuing. “I won’t argue that the Arrow has a different very approach than the Flash but that doesn’t make him any less of a hero and no, I don’t care that you hate when I call you that. It’s how _I_ see you and in my book that makes the Arrow pretty good company to keep.” Since he wasn’t sure which part of himself Oliver was trying to keep from him, the young man made sure to add, “Same goes for Oliver Queen; he’s been quite the humanitarian since rising from the dead. I have room for either of those guys in my life. Preferably both. And I refuse to let your screwed up, fatalistic self-image ruin our friendship.”

Barry is searching his gaze and Oliver couldn’t have answered because his tongue was suddenly sandpaper-dry against the roof of his mouth. He feels vulnerable, stripped bare of his defenses by nothing more than a pair of soulful blue-green eyes. Burying things he can't afford to feel is a Queen specialty and he tries to rely on that as he scrambles to keep the impassive mask in place. He must have slipped somehow because a small smile quirks the corners of Barry’s mouth and he seems satisfied, as if he had found what he was looking for. All he seemed to want was evidence that Oliver cares reflected in his conflicted eyes. 

“You are such a difficult bastard,” the young man complains as he relaxes fully, allowing his weight to settle against Oliver. He goes so far as to pillow his head on the vigilante's shoulder which is an abrupt return to their typical intimacy after six months apart. The way the kid nuzzles a cheek into his shoulder makes it feel like he craved the contact nearly as badly as Oliver did.

“Sorry,” he murmurs before giving up entirely and breathing in. Sensory overload has his eyes drifting closed as air leaves his lungs in a rush and he’s greedy to fill them again with fresh ozone and woodsy chill. Oliver’s hands twitch, his fingertips tingling with the desire to reach out and touch Barry. Trace the line of his jaw, traverse the shell of his ear, grip the base of his neck to draw him closer…

“You smell like lightning and fresh winter air.” Oliver wasn’t sure if he actually meant to say that or if his thoughts merely slipped the grasp of his sense. As a follow up to the apology it probably came off as incredibly strange so he doesn’t blame Barry for laughing. “It’s beautiful — and extremely distracting.”

Amusement fades in a rush and the speedster is quiet for a moment, chin tipped down as he hides from steady blue eyes. “Thanks,” he responds, sounding pleased and almost shy. 

Barry straightens up but remains so near that Oliver can feel warm breath spilling over his jaw. If he dared to turn his head, it would make kissing him an effortless task. “I uh- I kinda thought-”

He makes a face and sits back a little to run a hand through the fluffy mop that always looks windswept thanks to the nervous habit rather than speedster abilities. “I thought you were avoiding me because you figured out- y’know. How I feel about you… and it made you uncomfortable.”

“Of course not,” Oliver rebuffs gently. “I would have been upfront with you if that were the case.”

“So what exactly is the case?” Barry presses, unable to play it cool when he’s so invested in something. “I’m not delusional, this wasn’t completely one-sided.”

In the beginning Oliver had thought it was and once he began to realize it was mutual, he tried putting an end to it. At the time it had seemed the right choice for Barry; he didn’t want to waste that noble heart on his jaded one. Or maybe that’s what Oliver told himself because he didn’t believe he deserved the love of someone as good as Barry Allen. He had a history of abusing the affections of good people and while he wasn’t the same man who’d done those selfish things, he was still no better at relationships. While Barry wouldn’t have a ton of experience to judge him on, Oliver would never shake the feeling that he was failing him somehow. 

“No… but you still deserve better than me,” he insists quietly, glancing over at Barry with a plea in his gaze. _Take the hint and run, kid._

Barry huffs out a soft laugh and his tone is poignant in its playfulness. “Maybe you’re right. I should hold out for one of the Hemsworths.”

Oliver pulls back and shoots him a look that Barry reads easily. “Well that’s the only way I could top gorgeous billionaire vigilante - someone who plays one on TV. All the reward and none of the risk.”

Now they’re both chuckling and he’s caught off guard when the Flash moves with that blurring speed, determined lips crashing against his as a warm tongue licks boldly into his mouth. That earthy storm scent fills his nose, soft lips coaxing him deeper and he rises to meet the demand but refuses to rush. He cups Barry’s cheek, grounding him with touch and slowing the enthusiastic onslaught into something sweeter. Intense and patient in this as anything else, it was imperative that he make him feel special and wanted through the reverent slant of his mouth. He felt as if he owed Barry that much, to dispel any worry he’d had of putting Oliver off.

“Then again, what’s life without a little risk?” Barry amends when they part for air, a content grin lighting up his face in a way he'd never quite seen before. Oliver feels rather satisfied to have put it there. 

“You know our lives come with more than a little risk.”

“Will you ever stop trying to talk me out of this?” he questions mildly, using the arms hooked around the other man’s neck as leverage to get close enough to settle himself in Oliver’s lap. “It’s going to be a challenge when we’re both this stubborn.” 

His voice is husky as he grips Barry’s hips and buries his nose against his neck, the center of that irresistible aroma. “I’m up for the challenge.”

Barry’s breath hitches and he sounds hopeful as he fires back, “Prove it.”

Oliver bites him, both punishment and reward, pleased by the soft curse expelled on the tail end of a moan. He soothes the mark with lips and tongue, knowing it will fade quickly so he isn’t worried about restraint as he lays claim along the column of Barry’s throat. He loves the way it makes him shiver, greedy fingers carding through Ollie’s short hair or gripping his broad shoulders as he falls into the warmth and security of feeling a strong body wrapped around him.

There was a singular, pure sort of pleasure in Barry Allen wanting him, muttering his name desperately amidst a litany of praise as he searches for Oliver’s mouth, silenced only by kisses that were all the more enthralling for being so long denied. After long minutes of indulgence he pulls away to check if Barry wants to take this inside and barely gets the question out before there’s that dizzying rush of the speed force and they’re downstairs, standing beside Oliver’s bed before he can blink. 

He grips the metahuman’s forearms to steady himself and he has the grace to blush a little at the immediacy of his response. They share a grin then Barry is stepping closer, tugging at the hem of his shirt and Oliver lets him pull it off. They don't get much further because he’s fascinated by the scars and tattoos, having glimpsed some of them before but never allowed the freedom to run curious fingertips over thick keloids or black lines. 

“Wow, when were you bitten by a shark?” asks Barry as he traces the semi-circle of teeth marks cutting into his abdomen, no doubt trying to determine species from the bite pattern. 

“Stranded on an island, remember?” Oliver responds dryly. 

“Right,” the speedster mumbles sheepishly. He laughs and draws the pretty boy into more kisses, sweeter and unhampered by urgency while determined hands work on their remaining barriers. Ollie gets him down to nothing but scarlet briefs and Barry hardly seems to notice until his back hits the mattress and Oliver climbs on top of him wearing too many layers. He reaches for the front of his designer jeans and tugs at the zipper, insisting it isn’t fair around kisses that leave his lips red and a little swollen. 

He grabs wrists that feel delicate in his large hands but truly aren’t, he knows the power of Allen’s hands. Oliver pins them to the bed and shifts until he settles between toned thighs, then grinds his denim-clad erection into soft cotton. Slow and deliberate, he rubs against Barry and nuzzles into the throat which already healed his love bites from earlier. “Do you trust me?”

Barry whimpers, rocking back against the pressure of Oliver’s hips. “Y-yes,” he swears, flush and pupils blown wide so there was a just a ring of ocean around dark depths.

“Good.” 

He still keeps the speedster pinned while he trails messy kisses down a muscular chest and defined abs that are so perfect and unmarred he has to take a moment to trace them reverently with teeth and lips. Kisses against his side make Barry chuckle and Oliver smirks against his skin, tortures him a little bit more because his laugh is fucking magical and he likes to hear Barry begging him to stop. He relents in favor of nosing along the fine dusting of brown hair peeking out from his briefs, languidly mouthing the whole outline of Barry’s cock and dampening the cloth further when he sucks at the sensitive head through the fabric. 

He relishes the broken way Barry says his name, takes pride in feeling that strong body flex and strain to be closer, to seek just a little more friction. Oliver continues to tease him until he feels the tension flood out of Barry as he surrenders to the reality that he can’t speed this up; the patient archer is going to draw this out as long as he wants to. He rewards that capitulation with the removal of confining underwear and doesn’t hesitate to wrap Barry up in one hand before leaning in to taste, tongue curving around the length of him as Oliver swallows him down. 

Now it’s the Arrow’s turn to groan, heat pooling low in his stomach as he makes the ruinous choice to look up, to see Barry Allen watching him with warm, half-lidded eyes and a mouth parted to say his name. He’s sex and affection personified and it makes him willing to trade whatever pieces of his soul are left just to ensure Barry keeps looking at him like that, whispering ‘Oliver’ like he really needs him. 

During a downward stroke that leaves Ollie’s nose buried in short brown curls, Barry shudders and the vibration travels through his whole body so strongly that his figure blurs which has the vigilante pausing to glance up quizzically. The metahuman seems to flush deeper scarlet and he quickly apologizes. “Sorry, that can happen when I’m- ah, excited. I’ll keep it under control.”

Oliver gives him a calculating look before a devilish grin crosses his face. “You don’t _have_ to.”

Then he pulls that move again, a swift swallow that takes all of Barry down at once and feels satisfied to earn another one of those crazy, full-body shivers. He hooks one of Barry’s legs over his shoulder so he can have a better range of motion to work but that just encouraged the greedy speedster to dig a heel into Ollie’s back, trying to press him closer. 

“Oh god, Oliver…. Fuuck-” Nails bite into his scalp as Barry goes from petting close-cropped hair to holding on tight depending on what wicked thing Oliver did with his tongue. He tries valiantly once more to warn the Arrow but he doesn’t stop, takes Barry over the edge and doesn’t flinch at the splash of warmth in the back of his throat.

It doesn’t escape his notice that despite the orgasm Barry remains rock hard throughout more kisses and the careful press of a few lube-coated fingers. A fantasy about testing that lack of refractory period by making Barry come over and over again tucked itself into the recesses of Oliver’s mind; something to consider later.

Right now he’s in the moment, consumed by the roll of Barry’s hips as he welcomes every invading thrust and tries to urge Ollie’s hand deeper. Hot, ragged breath broken by low moans spills into Oliver’s ear and he hisses when Barry tugs at the lobe with his teeth, marks the side of his neck in a way that’s definitely gonna be there tomorrow. He’s focused solely on prepping his lover and enjoying all the new sounds he can coax out of Barry whenever he shifts his grip or changes the amount of fingers. There couldn’t possibly be a more erotic sight than that lithe body flush from chest to navel, hips arching off the bed and making that dripping cock bounce against taut abs. 

Getting him to move on takes Barry grabbing his face with both hands and forcing Oliver to look at him. He’s done begging, there is the steely edge of demand in his voice and he can almost see the lightning crackling in those stormy eyes. _“Fuck me.”_

Alright, maybe Oliver could be more flexible about letting Barry call the shots if he does it in _that_ tone. 

Only stalling long enough to put on a condom, he settles between Barry’s legs and drags him closer until he’s brushing against that tight entrance. The brunette wraps his legs around Ollie’s waist, lifts his hips and slips a hand in between to guide him. He tries to do it gradually but must have teased his lover too much because as soon as he’s all the way in and starting to move, that commanding tone is back. 

Barry doesn’t want sweet, he cries out for _faster_ and _harder_ , and Oliver accommodates because he’s only too glad to give this gorgeous boy anything he wants. He shifts his weight, changes the angle, and drives into Barry at a pace the speedster clearly approves of, if the increased volume and nails raking down his back are any indication.

He has the incredible privilege of watching Barry come again, this time from centimeters away while those hazy greenish-blue eyes hold his gaze with a sticky sort of tenderness that makes his heart stutter. Oliver kisses him, muffles the sound of his own sudden release as Barry surprises him with another one of those full-body vibrations and goddamn is that a good trick. It forces a quick end that leaves him a wreck, trembling and half-collapsed on the other man. 

Barry doesn’t complain, not a word about the mess smeared between them or how heavy Ollie is. He merely adjusts until he’s comfy then sends lazy fingers to trace down his spine, diverting to explore the mess of scar tissue at the small of the vigilante’s back. The quiet aftermath is so sweet and simple that he is loathe to break it but finally he says, “Barry-”

“Don’t,” he cuts in quickly and Oliver lifts his head to read his expression. “If you’re gonna say anything along the lines of ‘we shouldn’t have done this,’ just don’t. Not tonight.”

He looks so vulnerable, like he’s sure Oliver will regret it and this will only be a one-time thing. “Barry,” he starts again, slowly and with a hint of patronization. “I’m going to take a shower, if you’d like to join me. Otherwise feel free to borrow some pajamas.”

Whether he was staying the night or not wasn’t up for debate and that should give the kid some reassurance about where Oliver stands. He still doesn’t think he’s the best thing for Barry, but he can’t deny they are good together so he has no intention of backtracking. Not now when he finally feels like he’s on even footing, chakras aligned and everything in balance due to Barry’s proximity. He had been afraid the world would fall apart if he allowed them to get so close, blind to the possibility that being together could be the start of setting things right. The lightness Barry brings to his heart makes it worth the risk.


End file.
